


Lemme put some ink on that

by Lady_Napoli



Category: Naruto
Genre: Blame the book I just read, But I hope I can go with this, Kinda a cheesy romance, M/M, Multi, Really cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 01:57:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4245165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Napoli/pseuds/Lady_Napoli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Walking through the doors of a sleazy tattoo parlor nestled between two shady buildings, Yamato should've known that it was a bad idea to allow his sister to convince him into buying a tattoo for her. But of course, he never had the heart to. What he failed to realize was that the tattoo artist was hot, and that Yamato may have a crush on him.</p><p>What's a guy to do</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lemme put some ink on that

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first multi-chapter fanfic of my OTP and I sincerely hope that I could finish it to the end.

It was the breathy whispers, and the gentle shaking of his shoulder that quickly roused Yamato from his nap. He cracked an eyelid open, and groaned at the sunny face mere inches from his own. “Yukimi…” Hi sister smiled, brown tresses bouncing, as she hopped onto his bed. Yamato resisted the urge to clock her with his pillow, but settled for throwing the cushion at her general direction.

“Yams, wake up!” The brunet groused, turning his head to press his face more firm against the pillow. “You promised me, remember?” Yukimi added as an afterthought. It was obvious that she wasn’t going to leave anytime soon, known for her stubbornness, Yukimi was rather relentless in her pursuit of the things she wanted. After a few moments, Yamato gave a resigned sigh, ignoring the way Yukimi grinned in triumph. He pushed himself up, digging his fingers into his temples.

“…Fine.” He sighed, swinging his feet over the edge, and planting firmly onto the wooden floor, the blankets pooling into his lap. Yukimo squawked, throwing a hand over her eyes.

She collapsed on the ground, mock-sobbing. “M-my EYES! NOOOOO.” Yukimi laid on the ground, feigning death before flipping onto her stomach, and crawling out the door. Grabbing the edge of the blanket, Yamato balled it up, and tossed it onto his unmade bed.

Honestly, his sister was so strange. It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen him topless. He sighed, glancing down at his chest. Muscles that gave way to gentle curves, Well-built to the point where people have compared him to being built like a tree trunk, something that he has heard many times before. A quiet sigh, and a dismal look. Yamato _had_ planned to spend his Friday night just reading up on his architecture books, and pigging out on some chips. But, of course, his sister had to ask _him_. Wasn’t that a job for her girlfriends… well, whatever she called the people she hung out with?

He glanced through his drawers, tugging out shorts, and sweatpants before coming across a pair of jeans. With a shrug, Yamato tugged them over his boxers, making a face at the way it hugged his legs. Pulling out another drawer, Yamato slipped on a V-necked, white shirt, subconsciously tugging up the collar to hide the hints of his abs. Taking a once-over at his bathroom mirror after splashing his face, and slapping some subtle cologne, Yamato walked down the stairs, meeting his sister at the door.

“Are you ready?” Yukimi flashed him one of her angelic smiles, he could already feel his irritation subsiding at the sight of his sister. Admittedly, his greatest weakness would be his older sister. _Surrogate_ older sister, Yamato mentally reminded himself. Yamato was orphaned at a young age, abducted from his biological parents by a man codenamed “Orochimaru”. From that point, Yamato was used as a specimen for Orochimaru’s labs, eventually he was founded by the police due to Orochimaru believing he was dead, and leaving him to fester in the little prison that Orochimaru dubbed “home.” Soon, he was thrown into an orphanage with a boatload of physical, emotional, and mental wounds, where the Iburi family adopted them as their own. Since then, Yamato has been living with Yukimi.

Mentally shaking the ghosts away, the man grumbled out a quiet, “as ready as I’ll ever be…”

 

* * *

 

 

Yamato blinked.

And blinked again.

Before shaking his head for good measure. He turned to Yukimi, his almond-shaped eyes wide with disbelief. “This... is the tattoo parlour?” Yamato’s voice rose up a few pitches- wanting to smack himself for sounding like he never really got out of puberty.

The tattoo parlour was nestled between a strip club, and a shady pub. In neon lights with a crimson circle and black…commas arranged in the inner circle, the name “Sharingan” emblazoned on the front. Bags of garbage leaned against the buildings adjacent, and the scent of alcohol hung heavy in the air. Rats scurried about, pieces of food in their mouth.

Yukimi giggled breathlessly, gagging slightly at the smell. “Well, I was recommended by my friend. They said it was the best tattoo parlour in town.” She fiddled with the hem of her jacket, smiling.

Yamato pinched the bridge of his nose, already feeling the headache. He opened his mouth to suggest visiting in the morning, when the gasping moans of a woman, and the low grunts of a man accompanied by wet slaps, pushed a blushing Yamato to drag Yukimi into the Sharingan.

Even the suspicious tattoo parlour was better than being outside with… what was going on outside.

“What happened? Your face all red!” Yukimi grabbed his face, and started to inspect it, oblivious to what he heard outside. He pulled his face back, smacking her hands away.

“It’s fine. Let’s just… go.”

The duo walked over to the desk, situated against the wall underneath paintings of koi fish swirling in the water. They were greeted by a pair of converse propped on the counter. “Hi!” Yukimi trotted up to the man, wilting at his lack of response. She glanced at Yamato, blue eyes pleading. Yamato sighed, and walked up to the silver-haired man, crossing his arms over his chest.

He scowled, studying the man’s relaxed slouch in his chair. A surgical mask covered his lower face, an eye patch shielding his left eye, a large pale scar peeking out from underneath it. The man’s attention was engrossed in a novel- oh god, was that _smut_?? Absorbed in his staring, Yamato never noticed the man lowering his you-know-what, peeking over the edge to give him look.

“Excuse me? It’s rude to stare.” Yamato sputtered, flushing at the fact that he’s been caught, and scowled. “Don’t look like that.” The man commented lightly. “I wasn’t the one staring so shamelessly.”

Ouch…

Yamato feigned annoyance. “I’m not the one reading such inappropriate… things in _public_.” Surely, anything dubbed Makeout Tactics would either be an instructional book or simply the title to a trashy pornographic romance novel. Most like the latter. Not that Bleached Hair man would have any problems getting girls to kiss him, despite the mask over his face.

He seemed attractive enough.

His mind stopped, fizzling to a halt. Did… Did he just call this random guy _attractive_?? Yamato crossed his arms, digging his nails into the crooks of his elbows, horror dawning on his features.

Yukimi rolled her eyes, oblivious to Yamato’s internal breakdown, elbowed past him, and placed a gentle hand on the marble counter. “Hi.” The man looked up again, pushing himself back, until he was sitting decently in the chair.

“Yo, so whaddya need?” Yukimi brightened up, shooting him one of her smiles, ignoring the way Yamato crossed his arms, so much like a bodyguard.

She tilted her head slightly. “I was looking to get a tattoo?” A quick glimpse to the man’s shirt- _Kaaaashi?_ , Yamato squinted, glaring holes into the man’s nametag. Even his name seemed annoying.

“Kakashi.” Yamato looked up, noting the amusement that was laced into Bleach Haired man’s voice. “Sorry, you just seemed so… enamoured by me that I just took pity.” A deep furrow appeared between Yamato’s eyebrows, a hot flash of embarrassment burning him from the inside out.

Yamato swallowed deeply, glancing to the side.

Ignoring the way Kakashi seemed to make him seem so little.

Ignoring the way Kakashi seemed to wake something inside of him.

Ignoring the way Kakashi seemed to make him _feel_.

He turned sharply, grabbing Yukimi’s elbow, steering her to the door. “Fuck you.” At Kakashi unresponsiveness at his curse, the ire within Yamato rose, rearing its ugly head. He glared a Kakashi one final time before pushing Yukimi to the door, ignoring the deceptively cheerful “see you again.” Yamato curled his fingers around Yukimi’s hand, not really ready to talk… Or look at her. Until they were in the car, Yamato’s hands around the steering wheel, and the neon lights of night time blurred into one single indecipherable image that burnt spots into his eyes if he kept them open for too long.

“What the _hell_ happened?!” Yamato winced at the shrill tone. He shrugged. Yukimi’s face crumpled up in barely concealed confusion, and anger. “You know what I’m talking about. Back there, with Kakashi.”

He tightened his grip on the wheel, mouth pressed into a thin line. “Nothing happened.” Yukimi rolled her eyes, punching his shoulder, smirking at his yelp.

“We all know that’s a lie, little brother.” She looked over at him, concern swimming into her azure orbs. “You never act like this to people, are you ok?” Yamato sighed, parking the car in the driveway, he turned to Yukimi.

“He just annoyed me. I’m sorry, I won’t act like that tomorrow, ok?” Yukimi cocked her head.

“Are you sure?” Yamato nodded, placing a hand over his heart.

“I swear on my architecture books.”

Yukimi’s smile was worth it.

 

* * *

 

 

Once Yukimi had fallen asleep, Yamato had grabbed the car keys, and drove to the sleaziest and cheapest bar in the city. He pocketed the keys, face illuminated by the neon sign and the image of a hooker swinging her shapely legs, quickly averting his eyes, as he entered. Sitting in a vacated barstool, Yamato waved a bartender for a beer.

He gently swirled the amber liquid, tossing his head back to take a long draught of the drink, wincing at the sharp sting. Yamato leaned forward, cupping his chin in his hand, sipping his beer until he done.

Soon, one became two.

Two became three.

Three became… what came after three?

Yamato slowly stood up, wobbling in place, scanning the bar. Where was he supposed to go?- Forward, his inebriated mind supplied. A slow, lazy smile pulled his lips back, lidded eyes glancing around until it came across a familiar mop of silvery hair.

Hah! Now that Yukimi wasn’t there, Yamato would give… What was his name again?

Kakashi. Yamato scowled, internally beating his inner self into a bloody pulp at the dreamy tone. He stumbled to Kakashi’s booth, not really paying attention to the fact that he was with a rather busty blonde. Yamato smacked his hand onto the table, or rather tried too. He missed the edge of the table, and face planted on the wooden surface. His ears burned, hearing Kakashi laughing lightly. Nonetheless, a train must chug on. Yamato planted his hands on the table, pushing himself up, glaring at Kakashi. He sidled up next to Kakashi, pointing an accusing finger at him. “Y-you… I don’t like you.” Kakashi quirked an eyebrow. The blonde pressed closer to Kakashi, pushing her breasts up, tugging her shirt down, so that more of her cleavage would be shown.

Of course, Kakashi didn’t really pay attention.

“Oh?” The silver haired man leaned forward, cupping his chin in his hand. “Why?”

Yamato smacked his hand on the table- in his mind, it was an impressive display of assertiveness, but in reality seemed like a petulant child trying to assert his dominance.

“Th…Thhhhat. I only met you and I already _like_ you.” He lifted a hand, pressing a finger against Kakashi’s forehead. Kakashi laughed. A deep, beautiful laugh, and reached up to pull Yamato’s hand into his, curling his fingers protectively around his hand.

Yamato could only owlishly stare at their entwined hands. Kakashi brushed his thumb against the back of his hand, and Yamato could distinctly feel Kakashi’s callouses.

His one exposed eye curved into a crescent, betraying his mirth. “Is that so bad? Liking me?”

Yamato tilted his head, staring at their hands. “I dunno. Just is. You make me…” He clammed up, even in his state, Yamato knew when to shut up.

“Make you what?” Kakashi prompted.

There was this sudden clarity of mind. Yamato looked up, eyes suddenly watery, his sudden show of emotion affiliated with his alcohol-addled mind. He turned, surprised by the intensity in Kakashi’s eyes. His mouth suddenly felt like cotton, and the heat within the room started to rise into this single moment.

“You… You make me feel _alive._ ”


End file.
